Carved Up Letters
by behindabruise
Summary: When an unexpected letter appears in Bella's mailbox. OneShot WARNING: CUTTING, SORROW, AND SOME FORMS OF SUBTLE SWEETNESS DOES ENSUE


The clouds were drifting in the sky idly, as if they didn't have a care in the world. The sun shone brightly, its light filtering in through the dirty window that stood above the kitchen table. The flower in the windowsill wilted, and outside, the birds chirped happily.

_It's been one year since he left me._

_And one year too many._

Two stray dogs - black fur on their backs, white fur in their joyful faces - jumped and ran around outside the house's gate, in the street. The sidewalk sparkled from the sunlight, the water it had retained from the previous rain causing the dazzling effect.

_I can remember his leaving me so clearly._

_I wish I couldn't._

A little girl ran into the street, and dragged the two dogs over to the neighboring house's front yard to safety; I guess she suspected passing cars to run over them, though there weren't any at all in apparent sight - the streets were quiet. And I supposed they weren't strays after all. I could hear the little girl squeal with delight at having her loved ones back in her arms. The dogs barked cheerfully, the girl giggled lightheartedly.

_His face is so perfectly composed in my mind. I want to shake it._

_But it always stays in place, never leaving its center stage spot in my mind._

Charlie's truck rumbled down the bumpy streets of Forks, Washington, somewhere. He was probably listening to his favorite radio station right now. He was probably coming home from the station, actually. He was probably happy right then, wherever he was.

_I wish I could be euphoric again._

_But until he comes back, I will never be capricious again._

Jacob was probably on the reservation, protecting someone. He was happy. He was making others happy. Even if I hadn't spoken with him in a couple of months, he was probably happy anyway. He liked his new friend more than me. He liked Sam. He liked being a protector.

_I can't even remember if he was real or not._

_If he wasn't, this gloominess would just be a goddamn waste._

Alice and Jasper were most likely jetting all around the world, seeing the sites, and having fun, Alice dragging her husband all over the place. Alice had to have forgotten about me, right? Jasper must have forgotten too. They were having fun without me. They were unworried without me.

_My best friend, gone, as well as her husband._

_I miss them almost as much as I miss _him_!_

Carlisle was, no doubt, working in a hospital somewhere, saving lives. Helping people. Making them as cheerful as, in all likelihood, he was. And Esme was likely to have been just be happy to have her children away from a stupid danger magnet, like me. They were, no doubt, happy together, loving each other and their family.

_Esme's open heart . . . I miss it too much._

_And Carlisle's compassion is too much to live without too._

Rosalie and Emmett were most likely romping up a storm, wherever they were. Having fun, extending their honeymoon. Loving each other in new ways and new places. Being happy in each other's company. Just being happy and carefree.

_Rosalie never liked me, but I even miss her sneer._

_And Emmett's playful ribbing is gone forever as well._

And then there was . . . him. The one I couldn't live without, who was my universe and beyond. Who knew everything. Who was perfect. Who could never do any wrong. Who would never hurt me. Who would never let anyone or anything else hurt me. Who had loved me so much, it had to be a lie the whole time. A sick game so he could play me up, and then leave right at the height of my love for him. Whose departure was killing me slowly every second I sat there, staring mindlessly out the window.

But maybe my seconds were up. Maybe that butcher knife glinting in the corner of the kitchen wasn't just for killing animals . . .

Humans had died by knife too.

I glided over to where the dagger lay conspicuously on the kitchen counter. The golden sunlight washed over the butcher knife, causing it to reflect brilliantly back into my eyes. It seemed to stare at me, begging to be picked up. Begging to be riddled in blood, the way it was made. It was a bloodthirsty utensil.

I could tell, as I stood over it wearily, it wanted my blood as much as _he_ had wanted it the first time we met. It reminded me of him. Blatantly beautiful, dazzling in the bright sunshine, and always thirsting for my blood, yet never really wanting hurting me on purpose. It wanted my blood, that much was apparent, but it didn't truly want to hurt me. That's how it was.

And sadly, I wanted it to hurt me. My time was up. My seconds had passed, my clock had run out of chances to help me. It was time for me to go.

I picked up the knife slowly. My hand was deathly pale beside its beautiful sheen in the streaming sunlight.

It was on this day, one year ago, that my clock had begun to tick. I knew my life would be coming to an end soon. And it just so happened that on the day my cosmos collapsed - I would finally fall too.

But all the people in my life . . .

Had abandoned me.

Jacob was gone. Angela was gone. Jessica was gone. Eric and Mike were both gone. Everyone was gone. All but Charlie and Renee. But they were just two small prices to pay for the place I would be after I had slid the knife over my skin. And they seemed insignificant when compared to that place that I could almost taste on my tongue.

I know it'd seem like I was being selfish . . . and I was. I didn't want to hurt Charlie or Renee, but all I could think about was the long year I'd suffered. All I could think about was where and _who_ I'd be with when I was done. I wasn't thinking about the other people who'd stuck by me. I couldn't remember; I was blinded by the eternal gratification at the end of it all.

I picked up the knife, my hand shaking. It was nice and cold; it reminded me of his skin. Everything about the dagger reminded me of him.

My hand started to shake more violently as it neared my neck. I suddenly became frightened, but not enough to stop my actions. I did, however, decide a bit of practice was better than to dive right in. I slipped the knife through my wrist gently. It barely made a mark, maybe the size of a paper cut. My confidence grew. I sank it in deeper, until the blood pooled around the blade, and the pain made my mouth twist up as to halt a scream that was in place. I drew it from my flesh, and took in a long, pained gasp. The feeling had been agonizing, but the aftertaste of the cut had been . . . somewhat gratifying. I drew in a deep breath, and gathered my assurance again. This time, I was going deep.

My wrist was bleeding severely as it throbbed, but I didn't care. I was just interested in one place, one resolution, one person . . .

I picked the knife up with numb, robotlike fingers.

I slowly placed it beside my neck, where I could feel a pulse beating steadily. It didn't want to fail, but it had to.

I grabbed a dishtowel with my bleeding hand, careful not to bend my wrist, and threw it over the excessively bleeding cut. I think I went too deep for that one. The blood slowly seeped through the towel menacingly. I gulped. It threatened me with its slow oozing ruby-colored liquid.

The blade tapped the side of my neck, making me jump, because I was shaking. But I couldn't be afraid right now.

I was going to do it. This was it. I was almost there. I just had to slue it through my skin, and I'd be out of here. It was so simple!

. . . But why was I hesitating, if it was so simple?

I took in a deep breath, steadying myself. I planted my feet firmly on the ground, though that wouldn't matter after I'd collapse in a heap on the floor as I traveled to my new home. I closed my eyes, and tried my best to think serenely - it was hard when you'd lived a year without something as important as oxygen though. My breathing started out jagged, but soon became calm. I don't know how, but I calmed myself down - something I hadn't been able to do in a year exactly. I was beginning to feel more confident now.

The knife was positioned at my throat, and I was ready. Just one slice, it wouldn't hurt a bit in the end -

The front door slammed shut, making the knife clatter to the floor when I jumped at the sudden sound. I scrambled about, trying to wrap the towel around my wrist and put up the knife at the same time before Charlie could come in a suspect that I was trying to kill myself. Luckily, I got it all under control in the end, though it was makeshift and hasty.

"Hey, Bells," Charlie greeted me - that was his typical greeting, and it was expected. It was nothing out of the ordinary, right?

"Oh, Dad, hey," I answered. My voice was shaking. I forced myself to calm down again.

He seemed preoccupied with the mail, and hadn't seemed to notice. "So, how was today? Bored, right?"

I gulped. I'd been up to more than that in the past few minutes. "Yeah, mainly. There isn't much to do on the weekends without Jacob anymore. And you're always swamped at work. Ah, well, there is always homework." I sounded weak and unconvincing, but that had been the norm for me lately.

"I'll try to be free for Sunday, Bells." He sounded sheepish, regretful of my fake confession.

"Oh, don't worry about it, Dad. Homework can keep a girl occupied for a long enough, don't you think?"

"I suppose . . ."

"I'll just head up to my room then, if there's nothing you need . . ." I paused, waiting for him to notice the bloody dishtowel or unsuccessfully cleaned knife. But he seemed very into the mail today.

"Wait! There's a letter here for you. Perhaps it's from Jacob." Charlie seemed as hopeful at this as I was, as I was suddenly elated, which was very unusual, especially after what had happened moments ago. He handed me the letter with a grin plastered on his face.

When I looked at the envelope, I saw calligraphy.

"Well, then, I'll just head upstairs, and read it then."

Charlie seemed disappointed, but dismissed me. I raced up the stairs, my heart pounding for once. I could feel my pulse thud in my ears, and my palms became sweaty, smudging the familiar penmanship.

I shut the door behind me tightly, bolting it. I dashed for my desk, but I was already opening it by the time I got there. I savagely ripped open the rest of the envelope, leaving only shreds. I kept the return address secure, which was somewhere in Brazil. I didn't know the name, nor did I care, as long as I could write back to him, and finally communicate.

My fingers were numb and shaky, but I didn't care. If this letter was from whom I thought it was from, then I'd have no use for that knife downstairs, and everything would feel normal again. Thank you!

I unfolded the neat letter to find a short note written in a swooping handwriting that had been so familiar to me. It was beautiful, perfect, and my breath caught in my throat as I read through it.

**Bella,**

**I shouldn't be writing to you; I'll only be hurting you in the end.**

**But I must know: are you all right? Alice saw you and a knife, and . . . I had to write before it was too late. Please tell me it's not. I'm guessing it's not, because Alice had said it seemed way far off; it would be a while before it was officially decided by just you, thank heavens.**

**But if no one answers this, I have no choice.**

It was unsigned, and the most thrilling thing I'd ever seen.

I knew exactly who it was, and how to respond.


End file.
